


Lay Down Your Heart

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Songfic, series 4 added scene, they just need to use their words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: Set during The Six Thatchers, after Rosie’s christening but before later terrible events, Sherlock crashes at Molly’s for the night. When the subject matter of a certain song comes up, it prompts Sherlock to consider initiating a conversation that’s very long overdue.





	Lay Down Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PillowSlave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PillowSlave/gifts).



> This fic will definitely all click better if you’re super familiar with the song “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt. Not that you’ll be totally lost if you’re not, but I do highly recommend you give it a listen anyway. It’s just a classic. Hope you enjoy the inspiration it gave me! ;)

Molly sniffled as she finished up putting the last items in the dishwasher, the slow rhythmic piano of the song’s finale filling her kitchen. She turned the machine on, wiped her hands, and then went to the photo on her counter that she’d printed out from Mary’s email. She placed the group picture from the christening under a magnet on the fridge. Just then she heard a knock at the door.

There was only one person who showed up unexpectedly this late.

She picked up her mobile to shut the music off and did some extra sniffing and wiping of her eyes as she shuffled over to the door in her fuzzy slippers and dressing gown. Naturally though, it wasn’t quite enough to fool certain people. The second the door opened, Sherlock’s brow crinkled in worry as he swept past her and unwound his scarf.

“What happened? What is it? Is something wrong?” he questioned rapidly.

“It’s nothing,” she assured him with a dismissive wave. “I was just listening to some music while I did the dishes and one of my favorite songs was on.”

“Favorite?” Sherlock asked, clearly confused. “You’ve been crying.”

Molly shrugged. “Well it’s lovely, but pretty tragic, so it usually gets me teary.”

He threw his coat on the rack as he asked casually. “Tragic how?”

_Oh, God_ , Molly thought. She realized it would have been better to claim she’d been cutting onions before he showed up. How was she supposed to explain _that_ song to him?

“Um, well it’s just...this woman is singing about...spending the night with this man,” Molly explained, gulping a breath before going on. “But she just, she knows that’s all it is- to him, I mean. For her, well...she loves him.”

Sherlock stood frozen, his hand resting on the kitchen counter and his eyes trained to her as he listened.

“But she begins to realize that it’s silly to wish for anything deeper,” she went on softly, shaking her head a little. “She decides to be ok with exactly what it is and give up on anything more, and that in the morning she’ll give up fighting for him and just let it go. Because she can’t force him to feel what she does. Which is basically the title of the song.”

“What’s it called” he asked, his tone gentle but curious.

Molly held his gaze for a moment before clearing her throat and gaining the courage to speak the words.

“I Can’t Make You Love Me,” she answered, not much above a whisper.

One moment of awkward silence later and Molly looked away, letting out a short laugh. “It’s just one of those songs that’s always gotten to me. Even the music! It’s soft and slow and resigned...just like the lyrics.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before smiling at him. “Ok well I guess I’m off to bed.”

He opened his mouth hesitantly, as if to speak, as she skirted past him.

“You can have a shower if you’d like,” Molly added before he could say anything. “And if you’re staying the night you can sleep, well y’know, wherever you’d like of course.”

She wasn’t sure if he said anything in reply because she just continued down the hall to her room, careful not to turn in hopes of concealing the lingering burn of an embarrassed blush on her cheeks.

* * *

 

Sherlock stepped into the shower, turned up just about as hot as his skin could stand. He stood under the stream, his face accepting the gentle pummeling that the water offered. He leaned a palm against the cool tiles in front of him and blew out a puff of air. Strange, this bathroom had come to feel almost as familiar and comfortable as home. Many long relaxing showers after hard days of work, shaving at the sink, brushing his teeth, cleaning minor wounds...

He heard the clatter of the first aid kit in his head, clear as the moment it actually happened.

Sherlock ran his hands roughly over his face and hair. It was a unusual part of the memory to keep so clearly, but somehow that was always where his brain went first. That stupid first aid kit hitting the floor.

And neither of them cared.

Sherlock’s face had gotten a bit scraped up that day, on the pavement outside Bart’s hospital. The timing of it had all been a bit of a scramble, and in the rush to lay on the pavement face down, he’d come away with a small cut on his cheek which he and Molly discovered after he cleaned up at her flat. She dutifully took out her little kit, cleaning the cut as he leaned against the sink. When she finished, she looked up at him, let out a little sigh, and then smiled. Instead of saying something like, ‘ok it’s all done,’ she said, ‘I’m gonna miss you.’

He was so worn out by that moment; almost everything he had to give having been spent by the events of the preceding twenty four hours. That was mostly what he attributed it to at the time. The fact that he simply didn’t have it in him in that moment to divorce himself from feeling. Instead, he gave into it. He replied with an achingly sincere, ‘I’ll miss you too.’

And then he leaned down to kiss her...and didn’t stop.

As he pulled Molly in against him, the first aid kit was knocked off the sink, it and its contents crashing to the floor. Toby had been in there at the time and Sherlock was pretty sure that’s when the poor feline retreated. Not that he saw it. He and Molly had already begun blindly fumbling with buttons and tugging at articles of clothing that had never seemed frustrating or complicated before but suddenly deserved to be redesigned in his mind. They stumbled, half dressed, out of her little bathroom and into the hall, still kissing and clinging to each other desperately. The rest of the journey was a mere stone’s throw, but Sherlock was impatient enough at that moment that he hoisted her up, her legs wrapping instantly around his waist as he carried her into the bedroom. He recalled the way she released his hair for a moment to reach behind him and push the door shut as they crossed the threshold...

Sherlock flinched as the warmth of the shower began to fade. Though, that was probably for the best.

He soon shut the shower off, feeling refreshed and relaxed, on the outside at least. On the inside he could admit to being as much a mess as when he first stepped under the water. He shaved, dressed, brushed his teeth, and exited the bathroom, deciding on the guest room in this instance. Not that he could sleep much at the moment anyway.

Sherlock took out his phone once he settled on the God awful little bed and put his earbuds in. Against his better judgement perhaps, he decided to search for a specific song.

* * *

 

“Coffee?” Sherlock offered as he walked up to where Molly stood in line in Bart’s canteen.

She looked from him to the cup he held out and then back at him again in surprise.

“Oh, well I was just about to...” She gestured toward the line, but then smiled and took the cup. “Why wait in line? Thanks.”

“Heading back downstairs then?” he asked as she took a sip and stepped away from the busy cafe.

“Yep, I’ve got a full afternoon,” Molly confirmed with a little nod.

Sherlock followed at her heels as she made her way to the lifts, and he followed her inside when the doors opened.

“Oh,” she chirped, glancing at him as she pressed the button to head back down to the morgue. “Are you um, on a case?”

The lift began moving down, so instead of answering her question, Sherlock reached out to press the button to stop the lift altogether. He hurried to speak then before she could manage whatever words of confusion he could see hovering on her lips.

“Forgive me, I won’t take long.”

“B-but the lift-“

“There’s plenty of others,” he dismissed. “Nobody will miss this one for five minutes.”

Her gaze darted suspiciously over his face. “What is it?”

Sherlock drew a deep breath, hoping he didn’t make a mess of this.

“Because of that song you explained last night,” he began, noting the instant shift in her expression. “I need for you to understand something about...three years ago. It wasn’t-“

He faltered, shifting on his feet and swallowing thickly as she watched him.

“The day before I left London,” he went on cautiously, “that wasn’t the same thing...as that song.”

“Oh,” Molly breathed out. “Well I- I wasn’t necessarily trying to say it was- I mean, not that I think it’s so very different, but I suppose-“

Sherlock put a hand out, gently halting her. “Let me just get this out.”

She closed her lips, giving him a little nod of go ahead.

“I want to be very clear about the fact that I would never have done _that_ with you, had I not felt... _something_.”

And here was where he feared he’d make a colossal mess. He wanted her to be aware of the depth of feeling involved in his decision that day and in the act itself, but in defining or naming such a feeling, there was where he fell short.

“Something,” Molly repeated softly, the ghost of a smile at her lips.

Sherlock looked down for a moment, understanding how she must feel seeing as he was a bit frustrated with himself. “Perhaps that’s not quite good enough or exactly what you’d like to hear but I- I still wanted you to know. It was- still is actually...important to me. ” He looked back into her patient eyes. “I should have made that clear a very long time ago.”

Molly released a slow breath and then shrugged a shoulder. “I could have brought it up too. Neither of us said a word. Became a bit of a habit after all this time.”

He didn’t feel like letting her take any of the blame.

“No, Molly, it was for me to bring up. Clear the air, explain myself, anything more than what I did, which was absolutely nothing. I walked out that next day with a quick kiss to your forehead and a thanks for your help. I know now, and part of me knew even then, it wasn’t enough. And if I left you feeling anything like that...” His face scrunched up a bit comically. “That ridiculously depressing song-“

She cracked a smile, which admittedly took a bit of the figurative weight from his shoulders.

“If I did, then I am truly sorry,” he finished more softly.

Molly kept her lips pressed in a thin line for a moment, but then she slowly nodded.

“It-it’s ok, Sherlock. I understand, really. And...thank you.” She paused, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Even after all this time it’s nice to hear that you felt- and that it meant...”

They stared at each other silently for a moment, that word hanging unsaid in the air, though they both knew it well by now.

_Something_.

That something undefined and only barely now acknowledged, only spoken one night some three years before in a language beyond words. It seemed so clear then, not at all confusing or complicated. It was chaotic, yes; every touch, every kiss, every move, every unsteady breath. But still so very clear. A shame that such a language proved so difficult to translate. It was a weighty responsibility, and Sherlock hardly felt up to the task at the moment.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his own coffee as he reached out and pressed the lift button, getting it moving downward once again.

“You’ll be at the Watson’s for dinner?” Molly questioned.

He nodded. “Doubt I’ll be allowed to get out of it.”

She smiled at him as the lift reached the basement level and the doors opened.

“Hey, thanks for this,” Molly said, lifting the coffee as she stepped into the hallway. “And for the little talk. Guess I’ll see you later then.”

“See you later,” he parroted softly, and then the doors shut.

As the lift reached the ground floor again and Sherlock walked out, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to find a text from Molly.

I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD ALSO BE CLEAR THAT FOR ME, IT WASN’T THE SAME AS THAT SONG. :) SEE YOU AT DINNER. -MH

Sherlock’s brow furrowed for a moment as he wondered exactly what she meant. But then, recalling some of the lyrics in his mind, it hit him. His lips curled in a little smile.

He was admittedly relieved at the realization, because that was one of the saddest parts of the song. Not that he could blame the woman, in that circumstance of course. And not that he would even blame Molly. Because clearly he wasn’t quite there yet, and couldn’t even say exactly when he would be. That was what made it especially heartwarming that she’d say what she just did. That she’d be so clear about where she still stood.

Molly wasn’t giving up the fight. 

**Author's Note:**

> A hug to the bestie because it’s been a while since she’s helped me sherlolly plot plan and it was fun hehe! Thanks PillowSlave! :D I believe this is actually the first time I’ve written anything along the lines of “they did it after he faked his death” so yay for trying something new lol. And as you can see, I chose to stick to something that could fit into canon without much disturbance.  
> Thanks for reading and I’d love to hear your thoughts. ;)


End file.
